


Que Sera Sera

by vain_flower



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Courtship, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Explicit Language, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vain_flower/pseuds/vain_flower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucky in life, but unlucky in love, Amon's bid to rid the world of bending was a roaring success, ending with his takeover of Republic City.  Despite this, the girl of his dreams remains infuriatingly out of reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amon makes another revelation and Korra gets an invitation

**Author's Note:**

> AU after Season 1 Episode 10 or so. Korra never has her altercation with Tarrlock, so she never discovers his blood bending, or Tarrlock and Amon's backstories.

Korra pulls the hood of her jacket up over her head, adjusting it until she feels her features are adequately obscured. Unless anyone starts looking at her too closely, she should pass as any other unremarkable citizen of Republic City.

Once outside, she wraps her arms around herself, knowing the posture is noticeably defensive, but unable to help herself. The day isn’t cold, but her insides feel like ice, like she’ll never be warm again.

The streets are bustling, most of the people heading in the same direction she is, to the rally. Many of the people seem content, chattering to one another as they walk. Non-benders, born that way, with no reason to be upset. For them, today is a day like any other.

But there are others in the crowd like Korra, seemingly walking without purpose, their eyes dull and their mouths set in thin, firm lines. Korra wants to recoil from the sight of them, run back to Air Temple Island and hide under her covers, pretending like everything that has happened has been nothing but a nightmare. 

She falters, for a second, her body feeling physically torn over her indecision. Steeling her resolve, Korra presses on. Even if she’s no longer able to bend, no longer the Avatar, she still feels bound by duty to serve these people.

The street in front of City Hall is teeming with people. Korra stands off to the side, staring up at the top of the steps. Tenzin is there already, with Tarrlok and the other Council members. Along the stairs are at least three dozen chi-blockers acting as guards, making sure the crowd doesn’t come too close.

And then Amon strides outside the massive front doors of City Hall, straight backed and confident, coming to a halt in front of the microphone stand at the center of the stairs and assuming his usual posture. Most of the crowd erupts in cheers at the sight of him, but there are pockets of onlookers staring on in a silence that resonates with desperation.

“Republic City,” Amon says, and the crowd quiets, most of them eager to hang on to his every word. “As you know, the oppressive rule of the benders has been ended.”

There is more cheering, and Amon waits until it quiets down again to continue his speech.

“Our work is not yet done, however. Though benders can never terrorize those weaker than them ever again, inequality persists throughout this city. As the new Head of State, I fully intend to lead Republic City into a glorious new era of Equality for all.”

Again, the Equalist supporters in the crowd cheer. Korra notices the Council members sharing wary glances over this new announcement.

“By the mercy of the Spirits I was lead to stage a bloodless coup over the leadership of this city,” Amon continues. “Though there may be bad blood between the Equalists and many of Republic City’s other citizens, I want to move today to put those to rest, and I believe there is no better place to start than between myself and the leaders this city has come to already know. Therefore I extend the invitation to the previous Council Members to resume their positions.”

Even from her position far back in the crowd, Korra can see the looks of shock that pass over the Council members’ faces. Many people in the crowd are murmuring.

“In addition to keeping experienced individuals on the Council, I am expanding the number of positions, so that more points of view may be heard. I have nominated my second and third in command to assume positions on the Council, and they have graciously accepted.”

Amon’s Lieutenant and a woman dressed in an Equalist uniform that Korra doesn’t recognize both step forward. There are cheers again, the Equalists in the crowd mollified.

“I would also like to invite former Avatar Korra to assume a place on the Council.”

Korra feels her blood run cold at the mere mention of her name, and it takes a moment for the rest of the words, and their meaning, to catch up with her racing mind. The crowd is humming with restless tension, even the Council members seem nervous.

“I understand that there will be many who disagree with this decision, but the offer stands. Though no longer the Avatar, I believe that Korra will continue to work to maintain balance in the world, a feat that I believe would be best begun if she and I were to make peace.”

Korra can’t be sure, but she can’t shake the feeling that Amon is looking right at her, eyes burning a hole through her disguise.

Amon continues his speech though, and when Korra doesn’t burst into flames, she lets out a breath she didn’t realize that she had been holding. “It is my sincere belief that the great events that have transpired in recent days, and their consequences, will encourage us all to move forward, rather than lead us to move back. Be assured, that by working together, we will reach the greatest good for the greatest number.

“I make my respectful acknowledgement to those here who were benders, or strong supporters of benders and the patience with which they have listened to some observations to which they may not possibly agree. I understand your fears, your misgivings, but it is time to put those behind you and join in creating a city that is equal for all. With your support, we shall overwhelm inequality--but we must have that support.

“In the coming days, I will be working with the other Council Members to forge new laws that will make it easier to eradicate organized crime, that will lift the less fortunate from the grips of poverty, and that will increase the availability of education to this great city’s people.

“The great goal of Equality will not be killed. It is a quickening spirit--it is immortal. With Equality as our vision, let us build wisely, let us build surely, let us build faithfully, let us build not for the moment, but for the years that are to come, and so establish here a place where there shall be room for all.”

Amon nods to the crowd, his speech finished and a deafening roar of cheers sweeps through the streets. Korra feels it more than she hears it, as surely as she had once been able to feel a wave of water bend to her command. Here, however, she feels powerless against its current, as it tugs her back and forth between her warring emotions. 

Again, she feels Amon’s eyes find her in the crowd, and she’s sure she’ll drown in this sea of people, like being gripped by an undertow too strong to resist. 

Only when Amon turns and heads back into City Hall can Korra find the strength to breathe again. The crowd around her starts dispersing, the Equalists talking animatedly and excitedly. Even some of the people who had come to the rally looking pale and listless seem to have been slightly soothed.

Korra has to admit, Amon is a very gifted speaker. She rolls the thought of joining the reformed Council around in her head.

All her mind’s eye can conjure up, though, is her final showdown against Amon, how he had held her up on those same steps so easily, ripping her bending from her in front of the entire city. The thought of being in the same room as him without beating his skull in, pretending the play nice with the city’s new ruler because _what other choice would she have_ , makes her sick to her stomach.

She still has nightmares about it, of her limbs moving so sluggishly against his absurd strength, that awful feeling of having a part of her forcibly severed beneath his strangely gentle hands.

Korra sways on the spot, feeling woozy at the remembrance of that sensation.

Steadying herself, Korra turns away from the now empty street, feet taking her back to Air Temple Island.

Meanwhile, within City Hall, Amon surveys his new office. His Lieutenant and his third in command are setting up their own offices and Amon lets himself enjoy this rare moment of solitude. He feels his speech had gone over well, and it is his hope that it had done enough to quell most of the fears people have of him assuming leadership over the city. After all, it won’t do to begin with half the city despising him.

He thinks of Korra, standing in the crowd, staring up at him with mixed shock and fury and he smiles. Had she honestly thought that she would be invisible to him in that sea of people? Bending blood gives one a rather intimate knowledge of their victim. If he were blind he would know her.

There’s a knock at his door, and Amon sighs, his moment of quiet whisked away all too soon.

“What is it?” he calls.

Tarrlok lets himself in and he quickly shuts the door behind him. “What are you playing at?” his brother demands.

Amon feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Whatever do you mean?”

“A Council where seventy-five percent of the members would murder you in your sleep if given half the chance? Are you mad?”

“Taking into account Korra accepting the position and Cheng and Nuan both being unlikely to desire my demise, seventy-five percent means that _you_ want to murder me in my sleep. If that’s a confession, you understand why I’ll have to have you arrested.”

The face Tarrlok makes reminds Amon very strongly and poignantly of their childhood. “That’s not what I meant, brother,” Tarrlok says.

“Don’t call me that,” Amon snaps. “I’ve worked hard to cultivate this image and if I think that you can’t stay your tongue, I’ll find someone else to fill your position.”

Tarrlok sighs. “Alright, alright. What do you _want_ to be called? I must say, if it’s Fearless Leader or something along those lines, please replace me now.”

Amon snorts. “Amon will do just fine. Fearless Leader will also be acceptable.”

Tarrlok smiles, but if fades quickly and an awkward silence stretches between the two brothers. “Why would you invite Korra to be on the Council?” Tarrlok asks, which Amon would guess to be the entire reason Tarrlok has confronted him now. “You must realize she’ll refuse you.:

Amon considers this for a moment. “I must disagree with you on that one. Perhaps if I had asked her in private, she would have said no, but she clearly doesn’t have much of a choice with this one. Former benders still have faith in her, and she’ll step up to represent them. And when they see her assimilating to the new order, they’ll realize that there will be no going back to the way things were.”

“That’s low,” says Tarrlok, and his disapproving tone grates at Amon’s nerves. He hardly needs his little brother judging his tactics.

“That’s politics,” Amon says defensively. “And no worse than anything you’ve done concerning her. I give her a week at most.”

“You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Tarrlok says, pressing on, ignoring the barb and the vicious mood rising in his older brother. “She resents you already.”

“And what would you do? Let her fade away into obscurity?”

“I think that would be the kinder thing to do, honestly,” Tarrlok admits.

“Again, I disagree. Protecting someone from feeling shame isn’t necessarily the kind thing to do, and I certainly think it isn’t the healthy thing to do.”

“Oh,” Tarrlok says sarcastically, “so now you have Korra’s best interests at heart?”

Amon rounds on his brother, anger rising when Tarrlok doesn’t even have the decency to act afraid of him. “I have the best intentions of this entire city at heart, and that includes her.”

“Oh yes, thank you for reminding me that now she’s worthy of caring about since you, what, _rid her of her impurities_? You are such a fucking hypocrite,” Tarrlok says, disdain dripping from his voice.

“Fuck you,” Amon snarls.

“What?” Tarrlok says, feigning surprise. “No snappy comeback? Or do you realize the shit you’re spouting won’t hold water?”

“You think I like being a bender?” Amon hisses. “I _despise_ myself for it. It is a necessary evil that I suffer--”

“You think your followers would see it that way?” Tarrlok interrupts.

Amon stares at his brother for a long moment, wondering if Tarrlok is serious. “Don’t make me hurt you, Tarrlok,” he warns.

They both glare at each other for a long, tense moment, but Tarrlok finally backs down, dropping his eyes first in defeat. “You’re doing more harm than good, forcing Korra into this. She’s still so young.”

“She’s hardly a child anymore,” Amon argues, but his tone holds no bite in it.

Tarrlok crosses his arms over his chest, looking thoughtful. “I think she’s more of a child still than you realize. Just because you grew up fast, by necessity, does not mean that Korra can muster the grace of fortitude to accept what you’re offering. And believe me, it would take superhuman effort on her part to get over what you’ve done enough to be in the same room as you.”

Amon sits heavily in his chair. He’s exhausted, and this talk with Tarrlok is not helping that.

“Perhaps you’re right. But I can’t let her say no to this. What would you do?”

Tarrlok sighs. “You’re right in thinking that she’ll take you up on your offer, I think. At least, eventually. Just don’t push it. You’ve put yourself out there. Anything less than letting Korra reconcile with the idea herself is going to ruin it. You’re going to have to stay hands off, in regards to her.”

Amon groans in frustration.

“Oh, come on,” Tarrlok says. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be. I mean, how long have you waited for this day? Waiting for Korra to come around will be like a drop in a bucket in comparison.”

“Well,” Amon says, mostly musing to himself, “maybe just waiting for her to join the Council.” He frowns, sitting back in his chair.

A strange look passes over Tarrlok’s face. “I’m sorry, _what_?” he asks incredulously.

“What?” Amon asks, on the defensive. He’s exceedingly glad for his mask as he feels heat creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks. He hadn’t exactly meant to let that slip.

“ _Just_ for her to join the Council? As opposed to what?”

“Nothing,” Amon says, a little too quickly.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” Tarrlok tells him.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Amon counters.

“Don’t say things that draw arrows to conclusions! If you’re not planning something else, please correct me!”

Another awkward silence falls between them. Then, Tarrlok bursts into raucous laughter.

“Shut up,” Amon says bitterly. “It’s not funny; this is a very serious predicament I’m in.”

“You’re going to try to… what? _Seduce_ the Avatar?” Tarrlok gasps in between peals of laughter.

Amon has always prided himself on avoiding unnecessary bloodshed, but right now he is severely tempted. “She’s not the Avatar anymore,” he snaps. “And yes, that is the plan. Eventually.”

Tarrlok only laughs harder. “Oh Tui and La what on earth would you _do_? Write her a poem? Oh, oh, let me guess, _fire lilies are red, sea prunes are blue, I stole your bending and took over the city for you_?”

Amon scowls. “I might actually kill you.”

Tarrlok keeps laughing, but he finally stops long enough to ask somewhat seriously, “So, what _is_ your plan, _Fearless Leader_?”

“I haven’t actually thought that far yet,” Amon admits, ignoring his brother’s jibes. “Taking the city was my first priority.”

“Surely you must have some idea,” Tarrlok presses.

“None.”

Tarrlok gives him an assessing look. “You have _some_ experience with women, right? Scheduled a few dates between Equalist rallies? Held hands with a girl while plotting terroristic attacks?”

Amon clenches his fist. “I’m not some blushing virgin, you idiot. And though I may have had sex before, I’ll tell you one thing I have never done: committed fratricide. And let me tell you, I am honestly not sure how long I’ll be able to continue saying that.”

“Okay, okay. Clearly, you are in desperate need of my assistance. Lucky for you, I’ve been voted Republic City’s most eligible bachelor nine years running. I have quite a lot of experience with this sort of thing. We’ll land you an Avatar yet.”


	2. Korra wonders if this is real life and Amon spends a lot of money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things begin getting slightly less serious and a little more crack. I really wanted to write a fluffy romance, but it seems I have to power through some angst.

“Korra?”

Korra rolls over onto her back and flings her arm over her eyes. It’s probably afternoon, judging by the light, but she has yet to get out of bed. She can hear the note of worry in Pema’s voice, even through the heavy door.

“Come in,” Korra says.

Pema lets herself in, closing the door behind her. She’s carrying a tin of something in her hands and Korra sits up curiously. 

“This was delivered for you,” Pema says, with a small smile.

Korra accepts it from her and takes a moment to examine it. Embossed letters on the top read _Shiseido_ , the name of a well known bakery in one of the richer districts in town. It was the type of place Asami had once shopped at. Korra had once stopped by the window when she had first arrived in Republic City, pressing her nose against the glass, boggling both at the vast array of beautifully shaped and colored desserts and at the prices.

Korra pries open the top. The inside is filled with tiny, colorful pastries in various shapes.

“Who’s it from?” Korra asks.

“I’m not sure,” Pema admits. “Someone from City Hall brought them by, but it was just a courier. Mind if I have one?”

Korra frowns, wondering who would have sent her these. She knows she still has supporters in the city, even if they’re keeping quiet. It’s also not out of character for Tarrlok, who has a history of elaborate gift giving. Does he want her on the Council, too? “No, I don’t mind,” Korra says, picking up a pink pastry in the shape of a rose and taking a bite out of it.

“Oh, that’s delicious,” Pema sighs happily, having eaten a blue pastry in the shape of a bird. “Tenzin gets me a tin like this every New Year’s but I wish I could afford to eat them every day.”

“I can see why, “ Korra says. “Do you think Tarrlok might have sent them?”

“Maybe,” Pema responds thoughtfully. “He certainly has enough money to fritter away on sweets like this. Though I think if he tries to buy you another car, you need to turn it down.”

Korra laughs, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Pema.”

“You’re welcome, Korra. I’m about to start making lunch, so don’t spoil your appetite with those. I expect to see you at the table with everyone else.”

“Alright,” Korra agrees. It’ll do her good to get out of her room anyway.

When Pema leaves, Korra examines the tin a little closer. She lifts the plastic tray that holds the cookies out of the metal tin and her heart skips a beat. There’s a folded slip of paper hiding inside, with her name written on it.

For some reason, her fingers tremble as she reaches for it. The paper is high quality, thick and the color of cream. The scrawl of her name across it is deliberate and bold. She takes a breath and opens it.

_Korra,_

_Please forgive me if I put you in an awkward position the other day at the rally, when I publicly asked you to serve on City Council._

Korra nearly forgets how to breathe.

_The position is, of course, yours, when or if you choose to accept it. I have no intention of pressing the matter. It is only my wish to put the past and any hard feelings behind us._

_I do understand if you find it less than easy to forget what I have done to you and I can only hope that one day you will come to see my reasoning._

_Amon_

Is this real life? Korra sits on her bed, heart hammering in her chest while she tries to get her breathing back under control. She stares down at the pastries, innocently huddled together in their plastic container. 

Should she tell Pema? What if the pastries have been poisoned? Should she have them returned?

Korra lets that last thought play out in her mind for a moment. What if she tracks down the courier and has him take them back, with her own message? _No thanks_ , it might read. _Don’t send me anything else_. Or maybe just, _fuck you_.

Would Amon retaliate? Or was he serious when he said he no longer wanted to fight with her? After all, it’s not like she poses a threat to him now. 

Korra shudders. She still has her airbending. She doesn’t let herself use it though, too afraid that word would get back to Amon, and he’d take that from her, too. It’s better if she just stays far away from him.

Korra sets the tin of pastries on her bedside table and stares at it for awhile. Though the thought of angering Amon by sending them back is frightening, she’s not sure she wants to let herself enjoy them. What will it mean if she keeps them? What will eating them symbolize?

Korra closes her eyes and tries to clear her head, but it’s like the tin is staring at her, refusing to give her any peace. Feeling foolish for fearing a bunch of cookies so much, Korra nevertheless leaves the room, craving someone else’s company for the first time in awhile.

Not long after, the courier reports back to Amon in City Hall.

“You delivered them?” Amon asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she say anything?”

The courier’s face falls for a moment before he regains his composure. “Well, it was Councilman Tenzin’s wife who answered the door. I asked to give them directly to Miss Korra, but it seems she has been refusing to see anyone.”

Amon frowns. Will Korra even find his note? Does she even like pastries? Maybe Tarrlok was right. Maybe he should have gone for a gift that was a little flashier.

“Very well,” Amon snaps. “You have other things to be attending to anyway. You’re dismissed.”

The courier bows formally and leaves, and Amon is left to fret on his own.

So, Korra’s not accepting visitors. Even for something as benign as receiving a tin of desserts. It’s not a stretch to imagine her so upset over the loss of her bending that she’s imposing a near hermitage on herself, even though the thought makes Amon’s stomach twist in knots.

He has enough eyes on the island he can back the theory up. According to his spies, she barely talks to anybody, locking herself in her room for most of the day.

It’s entirely possible that no matter what he does, Korra will never grow to so much as stand the thought of him. He thinks of everything he knows about her, how she had known at such a young age that she was the Avatar. Before Avatar Aang, it had been customary to inform the Avatar of their identity at sixteen. Maybe if Korra had just begun her Avatar training when she had come to the city, it wouldn’t have been such a blow to her to lose her bending. Does she know who she is, without it?

Amon refuses to let himself feel guilty. He has _freed_ her.

She’s not even eighteen yet. That’s what gnaws at him most. He recalls his own childhood, how difficult it had been once his father had found out he and Tarrlok could bend. Had Korra endured similar treatment? Didn’t she deserve to be a regular girl?

Well, it’s unlikely she’ll ever come to see it that way. Amon holds his head in his hands, picturing her frightened expression as she stared up at him that fateful night outside of City Hall when he had destroyed the _Avatar_ , as promised. It hadn’t been his intention to destroy the girl, too.

Grumbling to himself, he goes to find Tarrlok.

“Are you sure something like this is appropriate?” Amon asks his brother later, under his breath.

Tarrlok seems entirely unphased by the sheer amount of people staring at them. Amon can even see his bodyguards casting him curious glances.

He and his brother are surrounded on all sides by a sea of silk and chiffon. A saleswoman is chattering on about various dress styles. He had gotten lost somewhere between bateau and blouson, but Tarrlok keeps nodding along as though the woman isn’t speaking _complete gibberish_.

“Don’t make such a fuss,” Tarrlok responds. Then, to the saleswoman he asks, “Do you have anything in blue?”

“Spirits, these are so expensive,” Amon says helplessly, checking a few price tags.

Tarrlok shoots him a _look_ and Amon can’t help but feel affronted. What does Korra need a dress as fancy as this for anyway? He’d seen the papers when she’d attended the party at which Tarrlok had tricked her into joining his task force. She’d looked so miserable and uncomfortable in that modest dress of hers. Will she really like something like this?

Even if she doesn’t set it on fire once she figures out who it’s from (and that image conjures up another of Korra setting fire to thousands of yuans, which is pretty much the equivalent at _these_ prices) will he even get to see it on her?

Amon can feel another headache coming on, and he wishes for a moment of privacy long enough to allow him to take off his mask and rub his temples. 

The worst part of all of it is he can imagine Korra in some of these. If he were really the monster she thought he was, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take her for himself. Dressing her like this, forcing her into a feminine role she’s clearly not meant to play, parading her around Republic City like a trophy of his success. It makes him a little ill to think how easy it would be. If he chose to push the issue, it’s not like she could refuse him.

He doesn’t want to be the kind of man she must think him to be, or the kind of man his father had raised him to be.

He hesitates in front of a manikin displaying an open back dress in a midnight blue and his face heats as he imagines Korra in it. Even her usual outfit is form fitting enough that he can imagine how those muscles would look when uncovered. His palms are already starting to sweat as he imagines touching the bared skin of her lower back.

Tui and La, it’s not fair to be so ruined by a woman who despises him.

“Oh, that one’s not bad,” Tarrlok comments, turning to look back over his shoulder one he realizes he’s lost his brother’s attention. He whistles as he checks the price tag. “I hope she’s worth it.”

Amon grimaces. He knows Korra is worth this, and more than he could put a price to. He just wishes that she could look at him and think the same.


	3. Korra gets a gift and Amon is disappointed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (enjoy the Final Fantasy IX reference!)

“Korra,” Pema calls, knocking on Korra’s door. “Your friends are here to see you. And you got another package.”

“Another one?” Korra asks incredulously. She opens the door with a frown. 

The box Pema is holding is considerably larger than the tin of mostly uneaten pastries on Korra’s bedside table. Mako, Bolin and Asami all stand behind her.

“From City Hall again?” Korra asks, accepting it. The box is surprisingly light and nondescript, though it’s kept securely shut with an elaborately tied red ribbon. 

“Yes. Again, no clue to who it could be from.”

“Alright. Thanks, Pema,” Korra says. “Come on in, guys.”

Korra sets the box on the foot of her bed. 

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Bolin asks, eyeing the box with curiosity.

“Maybe later,” Korra shrugs. She doesn’t really want to open what could be another one of Amon’s weird gifts with one of his weird notes hidden inside in front of her friends.

“Oh come on,” Asami nudges her. “It looks like a dress box.”

Korra frowns. A _dress_ box? 

“OH. MY. SPIRITS,” Bolin interrupts Korra’s thoughts. He’ss looking at the tin of sweets. “Are those really Shiseido pastries!?” He pries it open and nearly cries. “Oh please say I can have one!”

“Woah!” Asami says, sounding impressed. “Do you have a secret admirer or something?” She gives Mako a suspicious glance. 

Korra scratches her head, wondering what she’s supposed to say. “Well, secret’s not the word I would use...”

“Well, who is it?” Asami asks at the same time Mako says, “Is it that creepy councilman again?”

“Can I _please_ have one?” Bolin asks again.

“If you think anything sent by Amon isn’t poisoned, be my guest,” Korra says, figuring there’s no point in trying to keep it a secret. If anything, having a few more people aware of the situation might make her feel less like she’s going crazy.

Bolin’s face changes instantly and he takes several steps away from Korra’s bedside table as though the tin of pastries could poison from sheer proximity. Mako and Asami look dumbfounded.

“Uh,” Mako says. “Any reason why Amon would send you something like that?”

“Is it supposed to be a bribe, or something?” Asami muses. “To get you on the Council, like he wants?”

“So it would seem,” Korra says. “At least, that’s the only conclusion I could come to.”

“You’re not really going to do it, are you?” Bolin asks, still staying as far from the cookies as he can while still being in the room.

“Yeah, we wanted to let you know, the arena’s opening back up. Even though pro-bending is out of the question, they’re trying to get a mixed martial arts tournament going. We want to get the Fire Ferrets back together,” Mako tells her.

“I... I don’t know,” Korra says. “I mean, I haven’t really given much thought to what I should do.”

“I think you should join the council!” Asami says fiercely, totally surprising Korra and the brothers. 

“What!?” Bolin cries, sounding personally affronted. “Why would you say that?”

“Korra, I think you’ve got an opportunity here that you shouldn’t pass up!” Asami insists. “So you can’t bend anymore! Does that suddenly mean that you’re not the Avatar? Does it suddenly mean that you have to stop caring about what happens to this city, or that you’re not the same kick ass lady that showed up here months ago and kicked Triad ass her very first day in town!? You’re a fucking free bitch, Korra!”

“...Wow,” Korra says. “You really think that?”

Asami blushes and when she speaks again, her enthusiasm is a little toned down. “Well. Yeah. Korra, I really don’t think that bending made you any stronger of a person, or any more _good_ of a person. It’s not that I don’t think you wouldn’t be a great fighter if that’s the route you want to take, but I really feel like this Council position is the way to go.”

After a long moment, Korra breaks the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “I just don’t know if I can take on such a public position, especially having to work with Amon. After everything that’s happened... I feel like it would be humiliating.”

“How long until you have to make the decision?” Mako asks.

“From what I can tell,” Korra says, “indefinitely.”

Bolin looks antsy. “Well now I really wanna know what’s in the box.”

“Me too,” Asami says with a smile, clearly wanting to lighten the mood. “Go on and open it.”

Korra sighs. She pulls the box over to her, glaring at it as though it had personally affronted her. It’s sleek and white, with no indication of what shop it originated from. Korra picks at the ribbon and lifts the top free.

Asami gasps. Korra’s not sure what the big deal is. So far the only visible thing inside the box is an abundance of white tissue paper, the letters SOUBIEN printed in a repeating pattern along the surface.

“What is it?” Korra asks. “Is this a box of live camel spiders? You didn’t see anything move, did you?”

“No!” Asami says. “I can’t believe he got you something from Soubien! Last year there was a dress I really wanted from there for this spring event my father was holding and he complained about the price for a _month_ after he bought it for me!”

Her eyelashes flutter and Korra gives the tissue paper a skeptical glare before reaching in and removing the top layer. Korra’s eyes widen and she reaches into the box nearly reverently. Asami crowds in a little closer and even Mako and Bolin are leaning in with interest.

Korra pulls out a blue dress, the soft fabric whispering along her skin in waves as she lifts it up to examine it. It’s sleeveless with a jewel neckline and a back that plunges so low she can’t fight off her blush just at the thought of how it might look on her. The hourglass shape of the dress is accented at the waist with an elegant smattering of crystals. 

“Hey, there’s something else in the box,” Bolin says, while Korra is too busy being distracted by the silky feel of the fabric underneath her fingers.

“Ooh, it’s a note,” Asami says.

Korra lets the fabric slither from her fingers. Same paper, same handwriting. Korra reaches for it.

_Korra,_

_This weekend, the Republic City Opera House is showing _I Want to be Your Canary_. I have rented a private box and would be honored if you would accompany me._

_Amon_

“What does it say?” Asami asks, trying to lean over Korra’s shoulder to read it herself.

Korra crumples the paper up. “It, uh, it’s an invitation to see _I Want to be Your Canary_.”

“What?” Bolin asks, voice nearly reaching a shriek. 

“You’re not going to actually take him up on it, are you?” Mako inquires. He’s looking at her like she’s grown a second head.

“No!” Korra says, completely mortified. “I--I can’t even accept this dress!”

“Oh spirits,” Asami moans, “If you don’t want it, give it to _me_.”

“No, I’m having this sent back. This is absolutely ridiculous!” Korra sits there pouting, but she can’t take her eyes off the dress. The note in her hand feels like it’s a hot coal. “I mean... how much do you even think this cost?”

Asami looks thoughtful, though a little miffed that Korra won’t give it to her. “A dress like this? Maybe... twenty thousand yuan?”

Korra feels her head swimming. Twenty _thousand_ yuan. Is Amon _insane_? 

“What is this?” Korra asks, feeling woozy. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do.”

Asami pats Korra’s leg in a motherly fashion. “Well, if I had to make a guess, based on the pastries, the dress and the, uh, invitation, I think he’s trying to, uh, _woo_ you.”

Korra’s ears start ringing. She can’t have heard that correctly.

Bolin wails. “Nooo!” he cries, flopping himself on the bed inconsolably. 

Korra touches the dress again, head buzzing.

“I, uh, need to go get the council page before he gets to far away,” Korra says, standing up. 

“Yeah, alright,” Mako says. Bolin is still dramatically draped across the bed, and doesn’t even twitch until Mako kicks him. “Let’s get going, Bo. We’ve gotta start polishing our hand to hand skills if we wanna be able to support ourselves again.”

“Yeah, I’ve got places to be, too,” Asami says, clearing her throat. The three of them give Korra sympathetic looks before leaving her alone.

Despite what Korra had said about finding the page, she sinks back to the bed again, surrounded by blue silk and crinkly, white tissue paper. Her heart refuses to come out of her throat.

Later, in Amon’s office, the courier is looking considerably _uncomfortable_.

“She returned it?” Amon asks. He stares down at the white box in his hands. This time it’s sans ribbon. He’s not surprised, but he is disappointed.

“Y-yes, sir,” the courier says, wringing his hands.

Amon manages not to huff a displeased sigh until the courier vacates the room, but it is a near thing.

Amon sits at his desk, head in his hands, a posture he is becoming all too used to. The white box joins today’s paper, the headline of which reads _An Equalist insider tells all! THE LOVER AMON DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT_. Beneath it is a picture of him at the counter of the boutique, shelling out a hefty amount of yuans. Merciful spirits, how is this his life?

Amon lifts the box lid. It seems Korra had inexpertly tried to fold the dress back. His heart skips a beat however, when he notices that there’s a note inside, and not the one he had left. 

Does Korra call that _handwriting_? It looks like possum chicken strach.

It read: _What the fuck. Stop sending me stuff._

Well, that was disappointing.

There’s another knock on his door and he hurriedly stuffs the note back in the box and settles the lid back in place.

A moment later, his third in command, Nuan, lets herself in. She tuts as she catches sight of the box resting next to the newspaper.

“Your girl didn’t like her dress?” she asks gently.

“Did you need something?” Amon snaps. He does not want to talk about the dress right now.

Nuan crosses her arms over her ample chest and makes a face of mock disapproval at him. “Okay, no need to get testy, sir. I just wanted to deliver these.” She waves the stack of folders she’s holding.

“Thank you, Nuan,” Amon says with a sigh, taking the files.

“I realize that this might not be entirely welcome, but please let me know if you want me to give you any tips, sir.”

Amon hesitates. “Well… what would you suggest?”

Nuan beams at him and pulls up another chair to sit opposite him at his desk.

“Okay,” Nuan says, sounding entirely too pleased to be given a chance to impart her advice. “First of all, I assume that it’s not an Equalist you’re going after, because if it was, you know you wouldn’t even have to try, right? I mean, I think just you walking by causes half the ladies, and probably not too few of the men, on the force to cream their pants--”

“I am going to ask you to refrain from _ever_ uttering that phrase in front of me again,” Amon grates out.

“Okay, okay,” Nuan concedes, waving a hand dismissively. “But look, I read a lot of romance novels, so I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert in these matters. So, if you’re having problems, I have a veritable wealth of of ideas for romantic feats you could perform.”

“Um,” Amon says, unconvinced.

“I’m being very serious, sir!” Nuan insists. “I promise you, women love that shit! Unfortunately you can’t kill a dragon and present her with its head like they used to in the Fire Nation,” she says dreamily.

“I don’t think presenting a woman with a dead animal is very romantic,” Amon protests weakly. “Wouldn’t a live kitten be better?”

Nuan huffs. “Yeah, sure, if you never wanna get laid. Kittens aren’t sexy.”

Amon frowns.

“You need some kind of heroic deed!” she cries. “And for whatever reason, you’ve chosen some girl who thinks freeing this city from benders _isn’t_ heroic, or not heroic _enough_ , so you’re going to have to get inventive.”

“I don’t know if there’s much I can do that would impress her,” Amon admits.

“Spirits, sir! Is she _adled_?” Nuan demands.

Amon begins to seriously question his decision to ask Nuan’s advice. “ _No_ ,” he says firmly. “Nuan, if you don’t have any _actual_ ideas, I’m sure you can find something useful to do.”

Nuan scowls at him. “If you don’t want to kill any beasts, then at least you know what her favorite flower is, right?”

Amon pauses. “Uh… no.”

“Oh, spirits take the wheel,” Nuan says, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. “Her favorite food? Color? Anything?”

Amon shakes his head. “She won’t talk to me, Nuan. Um, she wears a lot of blue, if that’s helpful.”

Nuan pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not going to pry sir, because who you’re interested in is really none of my business, but I want you to know that I’m getting _suspicions_ , and I also want you to know that I think you might be insane.”

Amon fidgets. He sincerely hopes he wasn’t too transparent in whom he’s pursuing. “I’ll keep that in mind, Nuan.”

Nuan makes a small, pained sound. “Couldn’t you go after someone who _isn’t_ going to make security a nightmare?”

So, more transparent than he intended. Damn.


	4. Korra goes on a date and Amon has no idea what he’s doing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I have rewritten the previous chapters. I started this story several years ago and I was just updating the story to keep up with my newer writing style.

Korra returns home late in the afternoon after hanging out with Mako and Bolin at the newly renovated Arena. Even though she’s not sure if she wants to join the Fire Ferrets again, it had still been nice to get out and use her muscles. Air Temple Island is unusually quiet for the time of day, though Korra finds herself happy that means she can have some quiet time to herself in her room--

Korra stops in her open doorway. There’s not a surface in her room not _covered_ in panda lilies. There’s a particularly large bouquet of them resting on her bed, with _another_ note attached. Korra snatches it up, knowing exactly who it’s from.

_Korra,_

_I’m sorry you did not like the dress. In retrospect, it was, perhaps, a little impractical. Please meet me for dinner tonight? I have rented a private dining room at Kuang’s Cuisine. I’ll send an escort this evening, though if you would prefer not to attend, you can merely send a message with him._

_Amon_

Korra sits down on her bed, pressing the note to her chest. What the fuck. What the _fuck_.

Korra glances down at the note again. Then, she pinches herself viciously. So, not dreaming. Has she gone insane, instead? Korra tries to think of all the reasons why Amon would be trying to--what was the word Asami had used?-- _woo_ her?

There can be no doubt of it now. Not with _panda lilies_ covering every available surface.

Even if Amon is oblivious to their meaning, an unfortunately unlikely possibility, he wants _something_ from her.

They could merely be symbols of good faith, to convince her to join the Council. That option, while the most comforting, is probably the least likely. As much as she wants him to be, Amon is not _stupid_. He has to know the lore concerning the lilies.

There’s also a chance that Amon could be trying to get close to her, to win over her trust in order to hurt her again. Korra’s not sure if Amon would really do something like that, though. Now that he’s achieved his goal of “equality”, he seems… genuinely interested in helping the city, if the papers are to be believed.

As hard as it is for Korra to reconcile this new, benign persona with the man who had haunted her nightmares, promising her destruction, it’s harder still for her to picture him hurting her again. 

After all, she doesn’t have much more to lose at this point, and if humiliating her in public is his goal, there are probably at least a dozen better ways to go about it than drawing the attention of the tabloids by buying a twenty thousand yuan dress. Amon seems to be putting _himself_ out there.

And that leaves her with the last two possibilities, both of which entail Amon wanting to begin a _relationship_ with her. He could be in it for the sake of politics, though like his offer for her to join the Council, Korra doesn’t understand that line of reasoning. So the last option is a genuine romantic interest, which is honestly the most terrifying.

There has never been anything between them but enmity, so his new interest in her is bewildering. Had he felt this way even when they had been fighting? How long had this been going on without her knowing about it?

Korra touches one of the lilies, rubbing a silky petal between her fingertips. What is she supposed to do with all of these flowers? What is she supposed to do about _dinner_?

Will he be angry if she refuses to show up? Had he been angry when she returned the dress? Can she even muster up the courage to face him?

Korra’s stomach isn’t helping, twisting itself into an icy bundle of knots. She lays on the bed, pressing her face into the flowers and inhaling their scent. She feels torn.

She’s not sure if she can survive a night alone with Amon. She’s so terrified of him, still, that she feels her heart might give out if she has to face him again. Then again, she’s not sure if he’ll let her keep declining his offers of company. She doesn’t actually know anything about him. Is he going to be angry if she keeps turning him down and eventually hurt her, or force her into a relationship? It’s not like she could stop him, if he really wants something from her.

Korra shudders at the thought. 

Her only other option is accepting the invitation and _talking_ to him. And pray that he doesn’t try to take advantage of her. She doesn’t know if he’ll listen if she tells him in person to back off.

Korra forces herself to sit up. She definitely needs a second opinion on this, so she heads towards Tenzin’s office, relieved when he’s not inside so she can use his phone in peace.

“Hello?” Asami’s voice sounds thin over the phone.

“Oh, thank the spirits,” Korra says. “I’m so glad you’re in. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, Korra,” Asami says. “What’s up? Any more fancy gifts from your not so secret admirer?”

Korra’s stomach drops. “Yeah, actually. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

There’s a pause. “Okay,” Asami says finally. “What did he get you this time?”

“A room full of panda lilies,” Korra admits.

“What!?” Asama shrieks. Korra has to hold the phone away from her ear as Asami sounds like she’s in the middle of a mini-freakout. “A _room full_? I can’t even--Mako, you-know-who got Korra a _room full_ of _panda lilies_! Oh, Korra! Did he leave another note?”

“Hey, I will trade you men,” Korra says bitterly, bringing the phone back to her ear once Asami has calmed down.

Asami just laughs. “Sorry, but I’m quite satisfied already. So? He did leave a note, right?”

“Yeah,” Korra grumbles. “He wants me to go to Kuang’s Cuisine with him tonight.”

“Really? Oh, are you going to go?” Asami asks, sounding breathless. Korra can hear Mako say something in the background, but Asami shushes him.

“I haven’t decided,” Korra says. “I was kind of wondering what you think I should do.”

Asami hesitates. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “I thought maybe you were calling because you need something to wear. I assume you sent the dress back?”

“Of course I did,” Korra says defensively.

“Well, I don’t know if I can help you make a decision like that. I mean, don’t go if you don’t feel safe.”

“That’s the problem. Would it be worse not to go, do you think? Would that make it even less safe?”

“Oh, honey,” Asami says, gently. “I’m so sorry he’s putting you through this. But if you want answers, he’s the only one who’s going to have them.”

Korra hung her head in her hands. “Do you think you would have anything that would fit me?”

Two hours later, Korra is dressed for dinner, and she and Asami sit on the bed in Korra’s room, surrounded by panda lilies. Korra is glad that Asami hadn’t brought anything too fancy for her to wear; she doesn’t want it to seem like she’s trying to look pretty for Amon. She just wants to meet Kuang’s Cuisine’s dress code.

The dress in question is pale gray and sensible, cinched with a dark blue belt. It reaches just below her knees and flares enough that she’ll be able to run, if it comes to that. Her shoes, too, are comfortable, the heel wide and only about an inch in height.

“There,” Asami says, brushing a few stray strands of hair into place. “You’re presentable without being flashy.”

“Thanks,” Korra says. She wonders where all the oxygen in the room has gone to.

“Hey, would it make you feel any better if I got a table, too? I can keep an eye out, in case anything happens.”

Korra nods numbly. “Thanks, Asami.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Korra, there’s someone here from City Hall who’d like to speak with you,” Pema calls through the door. “Do you want me to tell him to go away?”

“No,” Korra says, opening the door. Pema gives her a questioning look when she sees what Korra is wearing. “It’s alright.”

“Oh, hello, Asami,” Pema says brightly when she sees the other girl. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Asami replies. “We’re just headed for a girls’ night out. That’s our ride.”

Pema frowns for a moment, looking between the two girls. Korra figures that if she looks anything like she feels, her expression probably says she’s headed to the gallows instead of a restaurant. But Pema’s face smoothes, and she pats Korra’s shoulder.

“Well, be safe, girls,” she says.

The ride into town is uneventful, save for Korra’s mounting dread. She’s sorely tempted to leap off the ferry and just swim back to Air Temple Island. Even no longer able to bend water, Korra is still a strong swimmer. It’s only Asami’s warning that the dress is dry clean only and so help her if Korra lets anything happen to it that keeps Korra in her seat.

Kuang’s Cuisine is even nicer than she had expected. The hostess leads her to a thankfully empty room that’s sectioned off from the rest of the restaurant by a sliding door lined with translucent paper. The table in the center of the room is set for two, and it seems more shockingly intimate than Korra had thought possible. There’s a low fire in the fireplace on the far wall that Korra stands in front of as she tries not to hyperventilate.

A few minutes later, when the door opens again and the hostess says “Your private dining room, sir,” Korra does not feel nearly composed enough.

She feels rooted to the spot. She knows she should turn around and face her enemy. Her back itches in preparation for a strike that never comes. She hears him approach, footsteps heavy on the wooden floors, and knows that she only hears him because he wants her to. He comes to a stop behind her, and Korra can’t suppress the shudder that jolts through her body. She hates herself for appearing so weak. For _being_ so weak.

She steels herself for the sensation of his hands on her, her mind playing horrific scenes of it on an infinite loop, of him gripping her arm tightly, pushing her, _hurting_ her, and _why had she thought this was a good idea_?

Amon’s eyes flick over the former Avatar, taking in her clothing, her posture, the slight tremble that passes through her, and he drops his hand from where he had been about to brush his fingers against her arm and he contents himself with clearing his throat. “Korra,” he says, as gently as he can. “Korra, please look at me.”

“Tell me what you think you’re doing,” Korra says, and Amon recognizes it for the plea that it is. He knows that she most likely meant for it to come out as a demand, but it’s a hoarse whisper. It breaks his heart.

“I thought I was being rather obvious,” Amon says. He’s surprised, but pleased, that she’s actually shown up to meet with him. He’s still exceedingly glad to see her, even if she refuses to look at him.

“And what would you have done if I hadn’t shown up tonight?” Korra asks.

“Nothing?” Amon replies. He’s a little confused. “You think I’d hurt you, is that it?”

“Well, taking into consideration what you’ve done to me in the past, what did you expect me to think?” Korra hisses.

Amon feels irritation and a sort of frustrated humor rise in him, but he refuses to let either show. He walks carefully around her, keeping himself just out of arm’s reach, watching  
her as she glares steadfastly at the ground. He’s acutely aware of how fast her heart is beating, so proud of her, for the the determined set of her jaw despite how afraid she must be.

“What I’ve done to you,” Amon says, voice low and devoid of emotion. He keeps his hands behind his back, clenching them into fists to keep himself from reaching out to touch her.

She truly does look lovely tonight, though not as lovely as he’s sure she’d have looked in the blue dress he had purchased for her. He’s not sure where she’s procured tonight’s outfit, but he’d put money on the Sato girl. That it appears to have been picked out for ease of movement, as though Korra expected a fight, does not escape him.

“Tell me, Korra,” Amon says, taking a single step closer to her. To her credit, she stands her ground, though he can feel the way her pulse leaps. “What did I do to you that was so awful?”

“Are you fucking serious!?” Korra demands, her outrage shocking her into action. She finally meets his gaze, eyes blazing as she draws her arm up as though she would strike him. She stares at him for a long moment, her posture defensive, waiting for him to hit her first. That moment never comes.

“I’m very serious,” Amon says. He knows the answer, but he wants to hear it, wants to pick apart every argument she could pose to him until she sees _reason_.

“Y-you took my bending away!” Korra snarls. This time, when she pulls her arm back, she actually takes a swing.

Having been prepared for an outburst, Amon ducks to the side easily, and when she spins around, more quickly than he had anticipated, he’s forced to catch her arm in his hand instead of dodging again, as he had meant to. Korra hisses as if the touch burns her, and she tries to tug her arm out of his grip. 

He holds firm, his other arm behind his back. For the moment she seems shocked into stillness again, and he doesn’t want to startle her more than necessary. 

“So what?” Amon snaps. “I’ve taken everyone’s bending away, and this city is all the better for it.”

Korra snorts and Amon squeezes her arm once, hard enough to quiet her, but not hard enough for it to hurt. “You’re alive, aren’t you?” he asks. “Your friends, your family, are all alive, and in one piece. Is your sense of self worth so wrapped up in your bending that you don’t realize what I’ve done for you? What I’ve done for everyone in this city that hasn’t had the same opportunities as you?”

Korra struggles against his hold, and he can feel her blood pulsing angrily. She doesn’t move to hit him with her free limbs, though he can practically _taste_ how very badly she wants to hurt him.

“Fuck you,” Korra shrieks.

Amon winces. He’s going to make the tabloids again if Korra can’t keep her voice down.

“No clever comeback, Korra? Is it because you know I’m right?”

“You’re a monster!” Korra howls, her struggles increasing.

Changing tactics, Amon lets her go and he steps back. She lifts both arms again, reassuming her fighting stance and glaring at him. Her chest is heaving.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Amon says, wishing fervently that he could make her believe him. This dinner is not going near as well as he had hoped.

“No more than you already have, right?” Korra asks bitterly.

“If that’s how you want to look at it, I can’t stop you.”

He watches Korra’s jaw work as she grinds her teeth; he can practically see the gears turning in her head as she considers him.

“What do you want from me?” she finally asks.

Amon is glad his mask hides his smile. “I want you to consider something, Korra.”

“What? Joining that fucking farce of a Council you’ve set up? Don’t make me laugh--”

“If I may finish, Korra?” Amon interrupts, eyebrow twitching. _Farce_? Did she pay _no_ attention to the politics of the city? He knows the papers have published some of the recent measures passed by the council since his takeover, and even the ones not currently under his thumb or in his pocket have been begrudgingly respectful of them. “What I want you to consider right now, before the Council position, before _anything_ else, is not what I have… taken from you, but what I have given you.”

Amon thinks he hears Korra grumble something under her breath about _idiotic gifts_ , but he ignores that. “Seventeen, and the entire world on your shoulders,” he begins gently, and he watches Korra’s eyes narrow. “How terribly overwhelming it must have been, to have lived with that weight for years now, confined in a compound, deprived of everything you should have had as a child growing up.”

Amon thinks of his own childhood, the endless training, the fruitless pursuit of perfection under his father’s gaze.

“Who cared for Korra the girl, instead of Korra the Avatar?” he asks her.

“You don’t know anything about my childhood,” Korra protests, knuckles turning white. “You don’t know anything about what I want for myself.”

“I know more than you think,” Amon says simply. “The Council position is not something you should take if you truly don’t want it. I just believe that it’s time that you should be able to choose for yourself which responsibilities you take, instead of having them foisted upon you.”

Korra just keeps grinding her teeth, but for once, blessedly, she has no scathing retort for him. “And that’s it?” she asks finally.

Amon says nothing, waiting for her to elaborate, though he has an idea of what she’s getting at.

“All you want is for me to think about how now I’m free to be some stupid _child_ with no worries whatsoever?”

Amon resists the urge to roll his eyes, even though the mask would hide it. “Korra--”

“And that’s why you’re sending me--” Korra cuts off abruptly, and lets out an unholy shriek in place of actual words, and Amon actually takes a step back, though she appears not to notice.

“ _Panda lilies_ ,” she hisses at him, eyes darting towards the door as though expecting to see a dozen news reporters with their cameras standing there. “What do you _want from me_?”

Amon vows to never take relationship advice from either his brother or Nuan ever again.

“I don’t want you to see me as your enemy, Korra,” Amon says, in lieu of a dozen other things that spring to mind. Even if Korra is still afraid of him, he’s fairly certain any of those would get him slapped silly.

Korra laughs, an ugly sound that makes Amon wince. “And that’s it?” she asks again. 

Amon is silent for a moment. “No, of course it isn’t,” he finally concedes.

She doesn’t say anything in response for a long time. She looks at him, and he can’t decipher exactly what she’s feeling. Her face is usually so expressive, but now it’s like a shutter has closed and he can’t tell--

Shock, fear, resignation, a combination or something else entirely he can’t place.

“Why?” she finally asks, and he’s surprised at how even her voice is.

“Why?” he repeats. In all honesty, he hasn’t been able to decide for himself what it is about her he finds so alluring. 

“Yes, why,” she snaps. “Is this some political thing, like asking me to join the Council? That’s what it is, right? A publicity stunt.”

Is that what she thinks? Amon is a little bewildered. “I assure you, Korra,” he says, “my interest in you is genuine.”

She does look shocked now. “You can’t possibly think-- after everything you’ve done--” Her chest is heaving, and her sentences start and stop abruptly. “I hate you. Spirits, I fucking _hate_ you.”

Amon feels like she’s actually struck him. Tui and La what was he supposed to do? It’s like she’s slipping out of his fingers, and the harder he tries to grab on, the faster she seems to be getting away.

“I hope one day I can change your mind,” he says helplessly.

“Can you give everyone their bending back?” Korra demands.

“You know I won’t, Korra,” Amon pleads.

“Then quit while you’re ahead!” Korra snaps. “How could you possibly think I would want to be with you after everything you’ve done!”

Amon doesn’t have an answer for that, but it doesn’t matter, as Korra is shoving past him and out into the rest of the restaurant.

There are two Equalist guards outside the private dining room, and though they exchange glances with one another, neither make a move to stop her as Korra flees the restaurant.

Korra waits outside for Asami, though she makes sure that if Amon comes after her, she has a ready place to hide.

She wonders if she’s made a mistake. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her, but denying his advances may very well call his bluff.


	5. Korra makes a decision and Amon has a reunion

“What?” Amon asks, _very_ sure he cannot have heard that correctly.

The Council page wrings his hands. “Miss Korra accepted your invitation to join the Council.”

Amon sits back in his chair, trying to wrap his brain around that. He had thought that Korra would never want to be in the same room as him again, not after their conversation at Kuang’s Cuisine several nights ago. What on earth could have made her take him up on his offer?

Not that he’s complaining. “Very well. Thank you for informing me. If you could send her a message--”

“She, uh, she’s already here, sir,” the page interrupts.

Is this a dream? Amon takes a moment to make sure his voice won’t betray him before saying, “Please send her in, then.”

Korra enters the room with a sullen glower on her face, shoving past the page roughly. She and Amon stare at each other for a moment.

“May I ask what convinced you to accept my invitation to join the Council?” he asks her. He very much wants to stand and go to her, but he forces himself to remain in his seat. After all, Korra has already proven herself to be exceedingly volatile. He doesn’t want to give her another reason to try to hit him or otherwise cause a scene.

Korra’s scowl deepens. “Obviously I have to do something with my time, since _someone_ took away my ability to do the only thing I knew how,” she snaps.

Amon can feel irritation start to simmer within him. Korra just seems to have that effect on him. It obviously unnerves her when he doesn’t take her bait, and just continues to stare at her evenly.

“But let me guess,” Korra says, breaking the silence, tilting her head and sneering at him, “the entire Council is just a big joke, and you make all the real decision.”

Amon raises an eyebrow. Of course, Korra can’t see it, but Amon can’t help the reaction. “You guess wrong, Korra,” Amon says. “The Council functions as it always has, with the decisions being made by majority vote. And no, my vote does not outweigh any others’.”

The look of confusion on her face is actually kind of adorable, if a little insulting. He doesn’t appreciate that she thinks he’s a tyrannical monster, but he is looking forward to showing her just how wrong she is about him. 

Now he stands. He doesn’t relish her flinch, but he’s relieved that she hasn’t bolted for the door like a skittish ostrich horse. She backs away from him as he gets closer.

“I can arrange your inauguration into the Council for later this week, if you like,” he says. He watches her throat work as she swallows.

Korra nods jerkily. She’s pressed against the wall, staring at Amon’s shadowed eyes. He hasn’t gotten too close to her, staying just out of arm’s reach. 

“What do you even like about me?” she asks. She has to _know_. 

“Is it really that surprising?” Amon queries.

Korra looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Yeah, it is. We’ve never been anything but enemies, you hate benders--”

“The fact that you were a bender is incidental,” Amon says. “Despite what you seem to think, that I’ve _taken away the only thing you know how to do_ , you’re far more than that. I know you want what’s best for this city, what’s best for the world, when so many people only care what’s best for themselves.”

Korra’s face softens for a moment, and Amon’s heart leaps. There is a sudden knock on the door and Amon wants to scream as he sees Korra turn her head towards the sound, her expression becoming closed off once more.

“Come in,” Amon calls, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice.

Korra pulls herself away from the wall as the door opens, watching Amon as the Council page enters the room with an older Water Tribe woman Korra has never seen before.

“How does Thursday sound, Korra,” Amon asks, returning to his desk and looking at his calendar.

“Thursday’s fine,” she replies.

“Very well. Please be here at noon. Goodbye, Korra.”

Korra frowns at the easy dismissal, but she leaves without saying anything. In the hall she stops and lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She thinks about what Amon said to her, about _why_ he likes her.

It’s not exactly a secret that he’s a talented speaker. All those pretty words, and they could just be what he knows she wants to hear.

Korra looks up when she hears footsteps, but it’s just Tarrlok coming down the hall. He does a double take when he sees her and then casts a suspicious look at Amon’s door.

Spirits, did _Tarrlok_ know about Amon’s stupid attempts to hit on her? Korra feels her face grow hot.

Amon turns his attention to the Council page and the woman with him as soon as the door closes behind Korra. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

The woman is glaring at him, hands on her hips, and the page stands anxiously behind her.

“What could you possibly want from me?” the woman demands. “Forcing me to leave my home and come here! Well?”

Amon doesn’t really want to have this conversation with an audience, so he dismisses the page. When the door swings open, Amon is surprised to see Korra still lingering outside. But he also sees Tarrlok standing next to her. Had they been talking about something?

His brother looks up and his eyes widen when he sees the woman in Amon’s office. Tarrlok distractedly nods to Korra before hastily entering the office and closing the door behind him. The woman rounds on him, clearly about to give Tarrlok a talking to, but as soon as she catches sight of him, her mouth drops open.

“Tarrlok?” she asks, her voice trembles, and so do her fingers as she reaches up to touch Tarrlok’s cheek, as though he might be a mirage.

“Yes, mother,” Tarrlok said, sounding pained. “I… didn’t know you were coming.”

The woman’s chin wavers, but she brushes the tears from her eyes before throwing her arms around her younger son. The look of shock on Tarrlok’s face hasn’t quite faded, but after a moment he returns the hug, burying his face in her hair.

Amon stands there awkwardly. Though he had sent for his mother, he hadn’t quite thought through what he wanted to say to her. He just wants to make sure she’s taken care of, now that he has the means to provide for her.

Tarrlok pulls away first and gives Amon a dirty look. Amon shrugs his shoulders. His mother straightens her skirts and turns to fix him with a glower.

“I don’t know what you’re up to--” she starts.

“Mother,” Tarrlok interrupts. “It’s Noatak.”

Well, that saves him from having to think of what to say, at least, but then his mother really does start crying. Amon glares at his brother, but he’s not sure how effective it is underneath the mask. Tarrlok seems unphased.

“Oh, Noa,” his mother cries, gathering him into her arms. “I thought… when there was that horrible blizzard and you never came home-- What have you been _doing_?”

“Look, mother,” Amon says gently, pulling himself back slightly. “I know I have a lot of explaining to do. But before I can begin, I need you to know that my relation to both you and Tarrlok needs to remain a secret.”

“What?” his mother asks, and Amon wants to kick himself; she sounds heartbroken.

“Mother, it’s important my identity remain a secret. I have a lot of enemies,” he tries to explain.

It seems to mollify her somewhat. She pats her face dry with a handkerchief and regards them both seriously. “Well, please tell me I at least have some grandchildren to keep me company while the two of you are busy with the Council,” she says with a smile that’s only slightly forced.

Both brothers exchange terrified looks.

“Well,” Tarrlok says brightly, “not yet, but I assure you, Noatak is working on it.”

Amon’s eyes narrow. He’s definitely going to have to arrange to have his brother killed.

“Oh, that’s wonderful news,” his mother exclaims, beaming at him. She truly does look happy. “So you’re married then? Does your wife know your real identity? You don’t wear that awful mask when you’re alone with her, do you?”

Yes, Tarrlok has to die. “We’re not exactly married yet, mother,” he says, wondering how he is possibly supposed to explain the situation with Korra to her.

His mother narrows her eyes. “Within a stable marriage is really the only way to rear children,” his mother scolds. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Tarrlok is trying to stifle his laughter and failing spectacularly. He pretends to cough when their mother looks at him suspiciously. 

“Mother,” Amon protests. “Tarrlok is… exaggerating. I’m still, uh, trying to catch her interest.”

“Are you serious?” his mother demands. “Has she even seen your face? If you’re anything like your father, she must be insane not to be head over heels for you already.”

Amon grimaces at the comparison to his father. Of course his mother doesn’t know how very like his father he is and _why_ that means Korra despises him.

“Mother, I have a reason for wearing this mask,” Amon begins.

“And it’s because he told everyone that his family was killed by firebenders before they left him with a disfiguring scar. I’ve heard from people who’ve seen it that it’s terribly gruesome. Your, uh, girlfriend saw it, didn’t she?” Tarrlok interrupts, very obviously getting too much enjoyment from Amon’s discomfort.

“Noatak, why would you tell everyone that? You haven’t actually burned yourself, have you?”

Amon tries to stop his mother from fiddling with the clasps on his mask, but she slaps his hands away. When she pulls it off, both she and Tarrlok gasp.

“Are you satisfied?” Amon asks angrily. He feels naked without the mask, and he quickly puts it back on. When he sees that his mother’s eyes are shining with tears again, he sighs in defeat. “It’s just makeup, mother. A backup, in case I need to prove my story.”

“Oh, thank the spirits,” his mother whispers, pressing a hand to her heart. “Noa, why would you lie like that? Why… why did you even get involved with this… revolution? You were always so good at bending. What would make you want to get rid of it?”

Amon touches her arm gently. “I have my reasons, mother. Just promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Oh, and your poor girlfriend doesn’t even know how handsome you are?”

Amon resists heaving and exaggerated sigh. His mother really has a one track mind.

“I think her being put off by my appearance is the least of my worries,” he admits.

“When he said he was trying to catch her interest, that’s something of an understatement,” Tarrlok explains.

Amon glares at his brother, who simply smiles smugly back at him. This is clearly revenge.

“Ah,” his mother says sympathetically. “She doesn’t agree with your cause, then?”

“That’s… one way to put it,” Amon says. He really doesn’t want to talk about Korra right now.

“Well, I know a thing or two about relationships,” his mother tells him. “And I promise you, honesty and vulnerability go a long way with a woman. If you told her the truth about yourself, I think it would help sway her to your way of thinking.”

Spirits, was his mother _serious_? This coming from a woman who had inadvertently married an ex bender who taught his children how to bloodbend and never knew about it. Yeah, there was an extreme likelihood that no matter how close he gets to Korra, she would never know the truth about him.

“She’s Water Tribe, right?” his mother asks.

Amon nods hesitantly. “Southern Water Tribe.”

“Well, should I just talk to her mother then? I’m sure I could convince her parents to marry her off to you.”

Amon blanches. He can only picture Korra’s reaction to that, providing that her parents would even agree to such a thing. She hates him now, such an action will only make it worse.

“No, please, Mother,” Amon says quickly. “That’s not really a viable solution.”

“Well, are you even trying?” his mother asks him.

“Of course I’ve been trying!” Amon says, affronted. “I bought her a twenty thousand yuan dress, which she returned--”

“She returned it!?” Tarrlok asks incredulously.

“What on earth would a good Water Tribe woman do with a twenty thousand yuan dress?” his mother demands. “By the spirits, this is worse than i thought. I thought it was cute when your father was clueless as to how to even talk to me, but if this girl of yours is as difficult as you say, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“All the help I can get so far seems to be less help and more incredible hindrance,” Amon groans.

“Well then, you’re lucky I know just what Water Tribe women want,” his mother says brightly.


	6. Korra joins the council and Amon totally isn't the worst leader ever

Korra’s inauguration onto the Council is relatively uneventful. There’s a handful of protesters outside, but for the most part, the people in the crowd seem pleased that she’s taking the position.

Most of the previous Council members seem a little leery of her joining, due to her youth and inexperience, not to mention her history of brash behavior.

Surprisingly, it’s Nuan and Cheng, the two Equalists on the Council, that seem the least perturbed by her presence. Nuan has been giving her considering looks, but at the very least the woman seems to tolerate her.

Of course, Tenzin knew about her decision the day she had gone to tell Amon she accepted it, and has already voiced his disapproval.

But now she has a job, and an office, thankfully and surprisingly not close to Amon’s, and a shiny new title. Councilwoman Korra. Not quite _Avatar_ , but it’ll have to do.

Korra just hadn’t realized how _boring_ her new job was going to be. Korra wonders how Amon is handling it. After all, he’d started from a position as active and dangerous as her own had been, and now they’re both stuck at desks all day.

Korra supposes he has his age to thank for the fact that he doesn’t seem to be going stir crazy. She’s not sure how old he is exactly; he just has an air of maturity about him that keeps her guessing.

The mood in the Council room isn’t as tense as she had expected it to be, either, and all of the members seem to at least hold a grudging respect for one another.

Their respect for legalese is another matter. Korra has nearly no idea what’s going on half the time. Amon is proposing a few new legislations, and the debate is wearing on late into the late afternoon.

From what she can parse from the conversation, for which she has been mostly silent, Amon is _really_ serious about equality.

She watches him for most of the session, feeling strange. Most of what he’s saying she actually _agrees_ with, and it turns her stomach.

“Look,” Tarrlok is saying, “I don’t think instituting a minimum wage is good for business owners or the economy.”

“I don’t know,” Tenzin replies, looking thoughtful. “I think Amon has a point.”

Korra feels a shock run through her. _Tenzin_ is conceding a point to _Amon_? Will wonders never cease?

Tarrlok huffs. He and the Earth Nation representative are the only ones who have voiced opposition to the measure.

In all of this, Korra is silently fuming. How _dare_ Amon want to lift people out of poverty and increase the general quality of life in Republic City. Everyone knows he’s a villain! What on earth is he playing at, bringing to the Council’s attention matters that Korra hadn’t even realized exist?

Still, when it comes to a vote, Tarrlok is the only one still adamantly protesting the minimum wage. When Korra raises her hand to cast her vote, she can’t bear to look at Amon, but she swears she can feel his eyes on her.

It makes her sick to agree with him on anything. But when she had joined the Council, she had agreed to cast her vote according to her beliefs as to what will be best for the city. She just can’t fathom living in a world where what Amon wants is the right thing.

As soon as the session ends, Korra flees. Being in the same room as Amon for an extended period of time had made it hard for her to breathe, and she needs some space to regain her composure.

Her new office is quiet and dark. She hasn’t had much time to really make it her own yet, and as a result, it’s still clean and tidy. The impersonal feel to it is somehow refreshing. Korra goes to the window and opens it, reveling in the fresh breeze.

Somehow, she thinks of that stupid dress Amon had purchased for her. She has no idea what sort of event she might even attend where such attire would be appropriate, but she can imagine wearing it now. The wind is a little colder than she had expected, and gooseflesh rises on her skin. 

She shakes her head when she thinks of Amon, touching the skin on her back where the dress would reveal it. 

Amon can be a terribly difficult man to read, but his eyes are still visible through the mask, and they’re more expressive than they have any right to be. What would they tell her if he had the chance to see her like that?

Korra curses him for doing this to her, for infecting her with his _madness_. Spirits, she hates him. Spirits, it’s not fair for him to have a voice like he does. Especially when he says things that make sense, when he says things that make him seem like a good man, like a man with the welfare of Republic City in mind. How can he do this to her, when he could be hurting her instead? It would make things considerably less confusing.

Korra lets herself imagine, just for a tiny moment, what it would be like if she didn’t hate him. If either of them knew how to be normal, were two completely different people, could she let herself be wooed?

Korra’s stomach plummets when she remembers knocking off his mask during a battle, revealing the ugly scar that covers most of his face. It’s a wound that makes cold shivers course through her body. Is he scarred like that all over? It makes her angry at herself for being so… vain, for being doubly afraid of his attentions because of what he looks like beneath the mask.

Still, even if she knows it’s shallow of her, she can’t keep the thought of his face from turning her stomach. It’s worse that she feels guilty about it. He doesn’t deserve someone like her feeling bad for someone like him.

Does he?

Korra sits shakily in the high backed chair behind her desk, mind reeling.

What is it even like to hate bending so much that you can’t be made to see reason? And yet, Amon is being exceedingly reasonable for a man who is supposed to be a tyrant. Korra remembers when he had first seized power over the city. He had ordered the forcible arrest of every bender in the city, and had made quite a spectacle of removing their bending. 

Korra remembers the day with such vividness that it makes her sick to her stomach to think of it. He’d come to retrieve her personally that morning, finding her hideout like he’d known where she’d been all along. True to his word, he saved her for last, parading her out on the steps of City Hall, chi-blocked but bound anyway. He’d made one of his pretty speeches, though she had no idea of a single word of what he’d actually said.

She only remembers the cadence of his voice, the cheering of the supporters in the crowd, the dreaded realization that there would be no one coming to save her. The _triumph_ in his eyes as he lifted her head to face him.

“I absolve you of your sins, Avatar,” he’d said. “I release you from the cage of your bending, of the terrible powers bequeathed to you. You will be free.”

His thumb had pressed to her third eye chakra and she felt the moment that part of her was severed.

Korra lays her head on her desk, hands clenched into fists. How can he expect her to forgive him? To love him? He’s a monster.

How many masks does he hide under? The mask of Amon, faceless, fearless leader of the Equalists. The mask of some twistedly benign king, lulling his subjects into a false sense of security as he’s surely plotting their demise.

Who is the scarred man under that, who has been driven to become those things? Is he even human still? She had honestly expected there to be nothing under the mask, just a gaping hole. Amon _is_ the mask.

Korra sits up and brushes her eyes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s the Council page, with an invitation from Amon to join her in his office for a bottle of sura. Korra is a little taken aback. Sura is a mildly alcoholic beverage of the Water Tribes, usually reserved for formal celebrations.

She’d been allowed to have a single glass when she had passed her firebending test. It makes sense that achieving a position on the Council would be cause for such a drink, but she’s surprised Amon is familiar with the tradition. Maybe Tarrlok had told him.

Korra follows the page to Amon’s office, debating on whether or not she should actually drink. She doesn’t want to be overtly rude, but she doesn’t have a lot of experience with alcohol. Amon had said he has no intention of hurting her, but she doesn’t have a desire to have her defenses lowered when it comes to being in the same room as him.

The door to Amon’s office is open, and the sound of several voices float out into the hallway. Korra approaches cautiously, but what she finds is the rest of the Council members, including Tenzin, standing around, seemingly having already broken into one of the sura bottles.

Korra feels a sense of surreality fold over her. This is better than being alone with Amon, right? Korra realizes she hadn’t seen him when she had walked in, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when he appears at her elbow with a glass of sura that he presses into her hand.

Korra isn’t sure if she’s imagining things, but she thinks maybe his fingers linger a little too long over her own. He’s as warm as always, body heat radiating off him and coating her back in something less than comfortable, but less than her usual panic.

“Inuuhiqatsiaq,” he says, leaning to speak the word low into her ear. It’s an ancient Water Tribe word wishing someone good health, and Korra recognizes it as being the Northern dialect. Then she’s suddenly cold, Amon’s presence gone from her side like he had never been there.

She takes a hasty sip from her glass for the sake of doing something instead of just standing there frozen in shock. Sura? Water Tribe dialect?

She barely hears the congratulations she’s receiving. She’s just sat in on her first Council meeting and now is truly one of them. Korra clutches her glass to her chest, occasionally drinking from it, trying to respond at least halfway intelligently as people engage her in conversation.

Of all the strange things, it’s Nuan who seems most interested in actually talking to her. After Korra, Nuan is the youngest, and one of the few women. Korra tries to determine how old she is, but despite a sprinkling of gray hairs, her face is unlined.

It’s surprising that someone who must have once hated her so much can put that aside and have a civil conversation. Though it must help that she’s on the winning side.

Korra wonders what it would be like the other way around. Under Amon, ex benders are allowed to get back to their lives and their greatest enemy given a position on the Council next to their leader. If Amon had been defeated, the Equalists would probably all be in jail, Korra muses. And Amon most certainly would not have been invited to join the Council.

She can’t picture any bender extending a hand of peace to the people who had tried to destroy them.

In any case, she and Nuan are sitting away from most of the other Council members, on a loveseat in the corver of Amon’s office. It’s comfortable, and Korra is feeling warm and tipsy. Though Nuan is asking her some strange questions.

Her favorite food--pickled sea prunes with boiled squid--her favorite color--blue--and whether or not she found kittens to be a romantic gift.

“Uh,” Korra says, a little stumped. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t really think animals should be given as gifts,” she explains. “People should only get animals when they’re ready to take care of them.”

Nuan nods thoughtfully. “Okay, but what about a dead animal?”

Korra makes a face. “You mean like food?”

“No,” Nuan says, waving her hands dramatically. “Like a trophy. Like, getting the head of a sabertooth moose lion to mount on your wall. That’s romantic, right?”

Korra tries to wrap her brain around how the hell she’d gotten herself into this conversation.

“I mean,” Nuan says, and Korra wonders how much she’s had to drink, “ _obviously_ scales ripped off a dragon corpse and fashioned into a necklace would be way more romantic and badass, but there aren’t any dragons left.”

“I don’t think I’d want any killing of animals going on when someone’s trying to get me a gift. Not if it’s just going to be a decoration.”

Nuan looks at Korra like she’s working with a hopeless case. “Okay, so what _do_ you think is romantic?” she presses, getting uncomfortably close to Korra. “Hey, I’m asking for a friend,” she adds defensively when Korra leans away. “You’re not my type.”

“Oh boy,” Korra says. “Yeah, I know where this is going. A friend.”

Amon hadn’t really thought about killing a sabertooth moose lion for her, had he? He seems a little clueless, but not really desperate enough for a show of masculinity like that. It’s a pretty funny mental image though.

Nuan snorts at her. “I don’t exactly approve, you know,” she says. “But that’s mostly because my little sister is _heartbroken_.”

And _that_ thought is hilarious. Korra can’t help but picture a little girl like Jinora or Ikki (but a nonbender and an Equalist supporter, obviously) writing _Mrs. Amon_ in curly letters in a school notebook and hoarding Equalist rally fliers with his face on them. _Spirits_.

“Good news for your sister: she’s welcome to him.”

Nuan narrows her eyes. “You don’t even _care_ ,” she says, and she sounds personally affronted that Korra doesn’t want to do the frick frack with her boss.

“Um,” Korra says, because she’s pretty sure saying _most days I want to beat your boss to death with a chair_ won’t go over so well. “It’s not so much that I don’t care, it’s that--”

Oh, she is so not good with words. What is the least offensive way for her to explain her feelings to Nuan?

“I think he is really doing what he thinks is right,” Korra finally admits. “But I can’t forgive him after what he’s done.”

Nuan seems hurt and bewildered. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand benders,” she says.

Not exactly what Korra had expected. Nuan sounds really defeated, like she’s trying to understand and just can’t.

“I feel like my arm’s been cut off,” Korra says, trying to think of an appropriate metaphor. “I feel like it’s been cut off and it sucks and yeah I can live without it, but it _hurts_ and everyone around me is telling me that my arm, my fucking _arm_ was evil, when it was just a-- a body part, when it was a _part of me_. It was so painful and violating and--”

Korra can’t keep going. The happiness of their respective buzzes is wearing off and Nuan gives her a look that Korra can’t discern the meaning of.

“What about the nonbenders that have faced violence at the hands of benders for centuries? All the people who have lost limbs, or their lives or the lives of--” Nuan stops speaking abruptly, and she has gone very pale. “This is a nonviolent solution,” she continues, after a long moment.

“I would have helped you,” Korra says, voice low. “You never even gave me the chance.”

“Help us now, Korra,” Nuan says, her energy seeming to return. “Now’s your chance, when you can do the most good.” She leans forward, and takes Korra’s hand, her eyes bright. “I know we have the same goal.”

Korra nods hesitantly. If she can still help people, then she’s not useless, she still has a purpose in this world.

Korra lifts her glass to take another sip and finds it empty. She hadn’t realized she’d downed her second glass so quickly. Nuan excuses herself, and Korra watches her get up and go to speak with Cheng, who laughs at something she says.

Korra startles when her empty glass is pried gently from her hand a fresh one takes it place, though this one has water in it. Amon is there, towering over her. Had he heard any of what she and Nuan had talked about? The thought makes her flush.

“You look dispirited, Korra,” Amon notes. “This is your night, shouldn’t you be enjoying yourself?”

Korra shrugs and takes a sip of the water in her new glass, stomach a bundle of nerves. Through the alcohol, she can’t quite tell what she’s feeling.

Amon lingers a moment, watching her, and Korra curses herself for not knowing what to say.

When Amon looks like he might be preparing to say something else, Tenzin interrupts him, telling Korra that he’s going home, and would she like to accompany him? Thankful for a reason to get out from underneath Amon’s heavy stare, Korra accepts.


	7. Amon spends a lot of money on something not stupid this time and Korra can’t believe she agreed to another date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a dead fandom? I'm worried posting this update is gonna be like shouting into the void. :/

As much as Korra doesn’t hate her new job, she even more doesn’t hate having days off. And the first time in a long time, she’s finally feeling somewhat normal enough to want to go out and do somewhat normal things.

So she calls up Asami, who suggests a day of retail therapy.

“Are you sure this is going to help?” Korra asks. Despite her doubts, there are some boots that catch her eye and she stares at the price on them forlornly.

Asami nods cheerily and grabs the shoes Korra’s eyeing, placing them in the basket slung over her arm. “There is nothing that bringing home a car full of new clothes can’t fix,” Asami assures her. “Speaking of which, there haven’t been any attempts by you-know-who to expand your wardrobe, have there?”

Korra shakes her head. “He, uh… threw me a small party in City Hall last night. It wasn’t a big thing, just the Council members celebrating my first day on the Council. There was sura. I was a little surprised he’d get a Water Tribe drink like that. Even Tarrlok’s huge party when he got me to join his stupid task force didn’t have any Water Tribe beverages and he’s actually Water Tribe.”

Asami _hmmms_ thoughtfully. “He’s probably still trying to impress you. But everything went alright? I mean, it’s not like he could have tried anything with all the other Council members there.”

Korra nods. “He barely spoke to me all night. Though that Equalist he appointed, Nuan, was sure chatty.”

Asami looks thoughtful. “Maybe he has her doing reconnaissance.”

Korra snorts. “Yeah, she was asking me what sort of stuff I find romantic. She had a lot of interesting ideas, I’ll give her that much. But I really hope Amon doesn’t actually use any of them. Or any more of them, at least. I have a feeling that maybe Nuan was behind the panda lilies."

Asami laughs and Korra finds herself laughing, too. As much as his interest in her frightens her, she can at least appreciate the absurd humor in the situation.

“Enough about Amon, though,” Korra says. “Honestly, I’m getting sick of thinking about the whole mess.”

Asami nods understandingly. 

“How about you?” Korra asks. “How’s the business enterprise going?”

Asami sighs. “Harder than I thought, honestly. My dad is really making it difficult; he wants me to have no choice but to go back to Future Industries.”

Korra frowns, wishing she had some sort of advice to offer, when Asami has been so helpful concerning Korra’s problems, but she doesn’t know anything about starting a business.

“I’ve got an interested investor, though,” Asami continues, smiling, “and if I can get his backing, I might be able to get my own company off the ground.”

“That’s great news,” Korra says. “I’m sure you’re going to do great.”

“I hope so, anyway,” Asami laughs. “I’ll have to make a trip to the Southern Water Tribe soon, so I can meet him. We’ve talked on the phone, but he said he won’t commit to anything until we meet face to face.”

“There’s a festival down there coming up pretty soon,” Korra replies thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind getting out of Republic City for a bit, and getting to see my parents again. We could go together, if you like.”

“That’s a great idea, Korra,” Asami says, bringing their purchases to the store attendant. She’s smiling, and Korra’s glad; all of her friends have been under so much stress lately that it’s good to see some genuine enthusiasm. 

“We should bring Mako and Bolin, too,” Asami says as they leave the store. “We’ve all been spread so thin, it’ll be nice to do something as a team again.”

“Yeah,” Korra responds with a smile. For the first time in what feels like forever, she’s looking forward to something. “Hey, we should swing by the arena. I haven’t spent much time with them in awhile.”

“Sounds good,” Asami says, closing their bags in her trunk.

They’re quiet on the ride to the arena, just the sound of the radio between them. Korra looks out the window at the city, at all of the people rebuilding their lives after the recent upheaval. Each day there are fewer downtrodden faces. Korra closes her eyes; it’s hard for her to look at the city when it’s doing well and know that Amon is behind it. 

The arena is bustling with activity when they arrive, and Mako and Bolin have carved out their own little corner in one of the practice rooms.

Bolin notices them first, and he stops mid block to wave at them, resulting in Mako’s punch connecting. “Ow, geeze, Mako, that really hurt,” Bolin gripes, picking himself up off the mat.

“Sorry,” Mako says, managing not to sound sorry at all. “But you can’t let yourself get distracted like that in a real fight.”

Their bickering is so normal, it makes Korra smile. She needs a little more normality in her life.

Bolin barely seems to hear him, punch completely forgotten already, as he turns to Asami and Korra. “Oh, we have great news! We’ve got a sponsor!”

“That is good news,” Korra says. “Who is it?”

Mako frowns. “That’s the thing. We don’t actually know who it is. We just came in this morning and our rent and entrance fees into the fights have been paid up for a whole year.”

Asami and Korra exchange shocked glances. “That’s still good, right?” Asami asks, a little hesitantly.

“That’s what I said!” Bolin exclaims. “Don’t look a gift ostrich horse in the mouth and all that.”

“I’m not so certain,” Mako says. “I don’t want to owe anyone, but since we don’t know who it is, we can’t give anything back. Not like we could afford to, anyway.”

Korra stays quiet. She’s actually pretty sure she knows who’s behind the generous donation. As far as gifts go, this one’s actually rather inspired.

“Hey, guys, I just remembered I told Pema I’d help her make dinner tonight,” Korra lies. “But we should all get together and do something soon. I miss hanging out with you guys.”

“Sure thing, Korra,” Mako says, watching her closely. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yep,” Korra says brightly, and she hopes her tone doesn’t sound too forced. “Everything’s peachy. Sorry for having to head out now, since I just got here and all.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bolin says, obviously not picking up on her tension. “Drop by again soon, okay?”

“You know it,” Korra says, waving goodbye as she jogs out of the arena. 

She thinks about going straight to City Hall, but doesn’t think she can handle a conversation face to face with Amon at the moment. So she catches a ferry to Air Temple Island. 

The whole family is in the kitchen, fortunately, and Korra imagines Tenzin is going to have his hands full chopping vegetables and keeping the kids entertained, so she should have enough time to herself to make a phone call from his office.

The main line for City Hall is the only number written down, and Korra frowns. She wishes she had the direct line for Amon’s office; she doesn’t want to have to deal with whomever might answer the phone. 

She dials the number she has anyway, and she doesn’t recognize the voice on the end of the line.

“It’s a great day in Republic City,” a chipper voice tells her, “This is City Hall, how may I help you?”

“I need to talk to Amon,” Korra says, keeping an eye on the door.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Can you just put him on?” Korra grates out.

“Hold one moment,” the voice tells her.

“Who is this?” The next voice asks, after a few minutes of instrumental music. It’s not Amon, but Nuan. She sounds angry.

“Nuan, hey,” Korra says, and she feels her face redden.

“Korra? It’s rude not to introduce yourself on the phone, you know. Not just anyone is allowed to talk to Amon, I’m not sure what you were expecting.”

“Oh,” Korra says. “Sorry. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But uh, is he in?”

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking,” Nuan says. “Yeah, he’s in. Let me get him.”

Korra rolls her eyes, and has to sit through a few more moments of music, her heart in her throat. 

There’s a click, and then Amon’s voice comes on the line. “Korra,” he says, and her stomach flutters. Yeah, definitely good that she decided to call instead of going to see him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” is what she says.

“Very well,” Amon says, after a pause. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

“Right. _Someone_ donated a large amount of money to the Fire Ferrets this morning. I want to know if it was you.”

“Yes,” Amon says simply. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Korra?”

Korra is taken aback. Even though she had suspected him, she hadn’t thought he’d own up to it so easily. “No, that’s it, actually.”

“I see,” Amon says, and Korra suddenly feels very stupid. “Well, then I have a question of my own.”

“Okay,” Korra says, letting out a slow breath to calm her nerves. “What is it?”

“There’s a small restaurant in the Water Tribe district. I’ve heard their pickled sea prunes are the best you can get outside of one of the tribes themselves. Lunch tomorrow. My treat?”

Korra’s heart is hammering in her chest. She recalls confessing a love for that particular dish to Nuan, and she’s not sure if she’s irked to find out that the other woman _had_ been doing reconnaissance. 

“Fine,” Korra says, surprising herself. She had actually meant to turn him down. Had she actually said _fine_?

“Shall I pick you up? I can be there around noon.”

“Sure,” Korra says, hating that she’s reduced to one syllable, one sentence replies. 

“Excellent. Have a good evening, Korra.”

“Uh-huh.” Korra hangs up the phone, dropping it back onto the receiver like a hot coal. “ _Shit_.”

A date. She's just agreed to a date. It's just lunch, she tells herself. Dinner is for romance, breakfast is for families and lunch is... for friends. Not that she is anything close to friends with Amon.

It might be nice if she can learn to look at him without flinching though, if he could stand near her without her stomach rolling. 

Even if they never become friends, they'll still work together. She needs to at least learn to tolerate him. 

Korra wanders into the kitchen, where she’s greeted enthusiastically. Pema is setting a dish inside of the oven and Tenzin is doing dishes, and the whole scene sets her somewhat at ease.

“Pema,” Korra says, trying to give her a meaningful look without alerting anyone else. Fortunately for her, Meelo is doing _something_ that causes both Jinora and Ikki to start shouting in anger, which in turn causes Rohan to cry and Tenzin is distracted by trying to calm them all down.

Pema nods, as perceptive as ever, and they both go out into the hall, out of earshot of everyone else.

Korra doesn’t say anything for a bit, just paces back and forth while she debates over what to say.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to know you got some more flowers today,” Pema says after a few moments of watching Korra pace. 

Korra stops very suddenly, eyes closed as she tries some of the meditative breathing tasks Tenzin has been trying to teach her.

“It’s not quite as extreme as the panda lily incident,” Pema assures her, which only calms Korra somewhat. “These gifts are what you want to talk about, right?”

“Yeah,” Korra says, but she still doesn’t know what to say. 

Pema sits on one of the low benches against the wall and motions for Korra to sit next to her. Korra sits, but she’s still so full of restless energy, and in lieu of pacing, she can’t help but jiggle her leg nervously.

“It’s Amon,” Korra finally says, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh, sweetie,” Pema says, “I had no idea that’s who’s been sending you all these things. I can start sending the deliveries away as soon as they arrive.”

Korra shakes her head, not lifting it from her hands. Pema places a hand gently on her back.

“He hasn’t threatened you, has he?”

“No,” Korra says shakily. That’s the problem. She’s pretty sure she can handle threats. She can handle Amon being a twisted, evil man who has hurt her, who took away her bending. It’s a lot harder to handle how much she doesn’t hate him. “I just don’t know what to do.” Korra takes a deep breath. “Do you know what he did the other day?”

Pema frowns. “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” Korra protests. “Spirits, I almost wish he had. What he did was way worse! Did you know that in Republic City, it’s really hard for younger women, and particularly mothers to get jobs? It’s totally legal for businesses to refuse to hire women they think might leave because they’re going to have children in the future, or might take days off to take care of children they already have. And businesses aren’t required to provide maternity leave; women are usually just fired. Did you know that?”

“Well,” Pema starts, “I’ve known that it’s a problem-”

“Well, _I_ didn’t!” Korra interrupts. “And do you know who I found it out from? It was Amon! Because he decided to draft a whole set of bills to overhaul business practices so that they’re no longer discriminatory!”

Pema brushes Korra’s hair back, not saying anything. It’s obvious that Korra has a lot to get off her chest.

“It’s not _fair!_! He’s a terrible, evil man and I want him to stay that way!” Korra’s chin wobbles, and she turns to Pema, wrapping her arms around the older woman and burying her face against Pema’s shoulder. “He’s taken everything from me! Spirits, he won’t even let me wallow in my own self pity,” Korra wails. “Every chance he gets he has to remind me that my life isn’t totally over!”

Pema coughs in order to cover a snort of laughter. It’s not that the situation is particularly funny, but Korra’s reaction is so _seventeen year old girl_.

“Your life isn’t over, Korra. I know it hurts now. It may hurt forever. But you can’t let it keep you from your destiny.”

“My destiny?” Korra asks, voice sounding broken. “My destiny is being the Avatar, and I’m useless at that if I can’t bend.”

Pema strokes Korra’s hair. “Your destiny is keeping balance, Korra. I know that right now it may seem impossible, but this isn’t the end. There’s a reason that bending is in the world. The Fire Nation Capital wasn’t built in a day, and no matter how long it takes, you’ll set things right.”

Korra sits up and wipes at her face. “How can I set anything right?” she asks, sounding defeated. “Amon has already proven he can best me in a fight.”

Pema pats her knee comfortingly. “Then you just have to fight fire with something other than fire,” she suggests. “Be the leaf, as it were.”

Korra nods shakily. It’s good advice, she supposes, even if she has no idea what to do with it yet. 

“I just don’t know how to handle him. I don’t know what to do.”

“Korra, I can’t make these decisions for you, but I want you to know you’re not alone. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Korra nods, thinking about her upcoming date. “Can we just keep this between us for now? Mako, Bolin and Asami all know, but I still don’t want anyone else to know about it.”

“Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Thanks, Pema,” Korra says. "I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit.”

“Alright. I’ll set aside some dinner for you whenever you get hungry.”

Korra heads to her room, still very unsure of how to handle Amon. She sits on her bed, staring at the sheets, but even though she’s tired, she doesn’t really want to sleep. She still has nightmares of him coming into her room at night.

Though thanks to his recent attentions, her dreams have taken on a somewhat sensual, though no less terrifying, quality. In them, she wakes, but before she can even rise from her bed fully, he jabs her pressure points, rendering her limbs useless before easing her back onto her mattress. His thumb on his forehead is like a caress, terrifying in its intimacy, before he robs her of her airbending. 

Korra bites her lip. Very few people know she still has it, and she’s not sure if Amon would know or not if someone lied about still having their abilities. She wants to cling to the only part of herself that really matters, even if she can’t let herself use it.

She doesn't know if it's safe to get close to him, and she wonders is this date is a bad idea.


	8. Korra goes to lunch and Amon gets disappointing news

Amon is a wreck. His room is a wreck, and worse, he’s no closer to making a decision than he was when he started. The sound of someone clearing their throat turns his attention away from the mess of clothes strewn about every available surface.

Tarrlok stands in the doorway with a sheaf of papers, observing the destruction with one eyebrow raised. “Seen an assassin in your wardrobe?” he asks.

Amon glowers at him, though it’s probably not apparent under the mask. “Did you want something?” he snaps.

Tarrlok waves the papers. “Just wanted to go over some a few new proposals with you. I see I came at a bad time.”

“I have an appointment to go to. You’re welcome to come back this evening.” Amon turns away from his brother and picks up the same shirt he’s picked up and discarded at least thirty times previous.

“Okaaay,” Tarrlok says slowly, not heeding, or not caring about the obvious dismissal. “An appointment... or a date?”

Amon turns his head back to his brother irritably. “Go away, Tarrlok.”

Tarrlok leans against the doorframe, looking entertained. “What’s wrong with what you usually wear?”

Amon huffs in frustration, tossing the shirt in his hands over his shoulder and rifling through another pile of clothes. “ _Nothing_ ,” he snaps. “I just thought--maybe a change might be--”

“Less conspicuous?” Tarrlok asks. “Good luck with that. Unless you wanna ditch the mask?”

Amon rather wants to strangle his brother, a feeling he is growing more and more accustomed to by the day. “I was thinking less threatening,” he says helplessly.

“Nope,” Tarrlok says. “I think that mask probably makes young children cry.”

“I’m not ditching the mask,” Amon snaps. “Now, unless you plan on being of some actual help, _get out_.”

Tarrlok smirks. “Well, good luck, _Fearless Leader_.”

Amon chucks a boot at him with a growl, but Tarrlok has already swept out into the hall, laughing.

Amon turns back to the mess he’s made, just about ready to rip his own hair out.

Korra, meanwhile, is also rummaging through her dresser.

“I don’t know,” she says, frowning. She pulls a long sleeved shirt out. “I think I could hide another knife if I wore this one. What do you think?”

Naga tilts her head at Korra, who’s holding the shirt up for her to see.

“Okay, you’re right. Three knives is probably enough, and I probably won't even have to use them.”

Korra looks out her window at the bay, looking to see if the ferry from Republic City has embarked yet. “Okay, Naga, I’ll be back in a little bit,” she says, scratching between the polar bear dog’s ears.

She doesn’t in any way, shape or form want it to look like she’s waiting for Amon by going up to the dock where the ferry will come in. But she more doesn’t want to deal with any questions from Tenzin and the kids about his presence on the island. The sooner she can get on the ferry and get it headed back to the city, the better.

When the ferry actually does come in, Korra doesn’t see any trace of Amon. She searches for his form amidst the crew, but doesn’t see him. She’s not sure how she feels. Has he just stood her up?

But no--

She sees his mask, bone white against the gray of his hood, and her pulse leaps. He’s dressed differently, she notices, which is why it had taken her so long to pick him out. He’s traded in his typical militaristic uniform for black boots and trousers with a gray, hooded tunic.

She hops into the boat, hesitating for a moment. She doesn’t really have any desire to go over to him. What is she supposed to say?

“Good afternoon, Korra,” Amon says, when Korra finally steels herself enough to go walk over to him.

He’s standing by the edge of the boat, looking out over the water. Korra looks at it too, wondering what he’s thinking.

“Hey,” she replies belatedly, entirely too stiff. She wishes terribly that she were any good at hiding how much he still frightens her.

There’s silence between them for a long time, and Korra wonders where Amon’s usual chattiness has run off to. He usually has plenty to say to her, so this reticence is a little unnerving.

Korra tries looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She likes this outfit better. He’s still _big_ , but he seems slimmer and a little less intimidating. More human.

“How old are you?” Korra asks finally. It’s a question she’s been dying to know the answer to.

Amon’s head turns fractionally towards her, but it’s a moment before he answers. “Forty.”

Korra coughs to cover her surprise. That’s fucking _old_. “Wow,” Korra says, at a loss for words. “That’s… old.”

Korra thinks she hears Amon huff something that might be a laugh. “It’s not _old_ ,” he protests, sounding amused more than anything else. “Just older than you.”

It’s different, hearing his voice like this, with actual emotion coloring his words. Korra’s not sure how to feel about it. 

“Twice as old as me,” Korra corrects. “ _More_ than twice as old as me. Haven’t you heard the half your age plus seven rule? You shouldn’t be dating anyone younger than twenty-seven. And I’m ten years younger than _that_.”

“I can do basic math, Korra,” Amon says wryly. “And girls younger than you get married to men my age all the time.”

Korra crosses her arms. “Yeah, maybe in bass-ackwards Northern Water Tribe villages,” she snorts. “I’m _Southern_ Water Tribe. We’re not about that.”

Amon _hmms_ , still sounding entirely too amused. He doesn’t have one of his typical clever comebacks,though, so Korra counts that as a point for herself. Finally.

“Speaking of Water Tribes,” Korra says, leaning forward and resting her arms on the railing, “have you ever even tried sea prunes? They’re kind of an acquired taste. Just so that you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“They’re a favorite of mine,” Amon admits, “from my childhood.”

Korra pauses for a minute, the gears turning in her head. “When did you get the chance to try sea prunes as a kid?” she asks. “I thought you grew up in the Earth Nation or something. Sea prunes aren’t exactly easy to come by outside of the poles.” She tries not to be too obvious about watching for his reaction, wondering if she’s caught him in a lie.

“You’re right, Korra. I did grow up in the Earth Kingdom, but my mother was born in the Northern Water Tribe,” he says smoothly, completely unphased. “She ran away from home to be with my father. We couldn’t afford a lot of luxuries, but sea prunes were one that my mother let herself indulge in when she could, and I grew to like them, too.”

He doesn’t relish lying to her, but he tells himself he has no other options.

Korra’s disappointed, mouth twisting into a frown. She desperately wants to find something in his story that will prove him a liar, wrong about bending, wrong about _her_.

And that’s when it comes to her. If she really wants to pry apart his reasoning and find its flaws, he’s already provided her with the in she needs. If she wants to take it. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and thinks _be the leaf_. Her heart leaps, but the idea of letting him get close isn’t as frightening as it once was.

“So,” Korra says, nodding, half to herself, “Northern Water Tribe, huh? My uncle’s the chief up there.”

“I’m aware,” Amon says.

Korra watches him, wondering what Amon’s plans are for the rest of the world. As far as Korra knows, no one else has a power like his. He’s only one man, what’s he going to do, travel the world until each and every bender is ‘equalized’? Maybe he has specific people in mind first, like leaders. Like Unalaq. The thought makes Korra nervous.

Amon turns his head to look at her when she goes quiet for a bit. “Something wrong?”

Her face is pensive, and when she looks at him, her blue eyes are uncharacteristically serious, like deep, still pools that have monsters lurking in their depths. The look passes after a moment, when Korra realizes that the ferry has arrived at Republic City.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she says, and Amon doesn’t believe her.

Still, she follows him without fuss through the crowds to the bustling little restaurant one of his followers had told him about. He can feel every eye in the room instantly swivel to look at the two of them as they enter.

Korra seems a little offput by the attention as well, but the restaurant is tiny, and unlike Kuang’s Cuisine, there are no private booths where they can talk and eat uninterrupted.

Amon does manage to find them a small table tucked away in one of the corners, however, and it makes him feel a little better. He sits with his back to most of the patrons; it’s not something he would usually allow himself to do, but he needs to adjust his mask a little bit to eat, and he’d rather not have the entire restaurant goggling at him. 

He's switched to a new makeup, one developed to be water and smudge resistant and has so far found it satisfactory, but this is his first time using it in public, and it would be a shame for any would-be reporter to snap a shot of his face in the event of a mishap.

Still, he hates not being able to watch the entrance. Too many years of being careful has all of his instincts crying out, but he has a few Equalists he trusts planted in the restaurant to keep a lookout so that he doesn’t have to.

Korra doesn’t notice his discomfort, and she gets the seaweed noodles with pickled sea prunes. Amon orders the tentacle soup, a little affronted when Korra reaches across the table and takes one of his tentacles with her chopsticks without asking. He retaliates by stealing one of her sea prunes and he can feel his face burn hot when the only way he can think to describe the look she gives him as _coquettish_. 

He wants to be suspicious; she has always been so guarded against him, and to see her like this should raise at least a dozen red flags. But she has always been so transparent. It’s one of the things he likes most about her. He can’t put his finger on exactly what has changed, but he’s not about to look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth.

“So,” Korra says, and Amon isn’t sure what to do because she’s talking with her mouth full and instead of being put off, his chest is warm. Spirits, what this woman has done to him. Korra, oblivious to how he’s feeling, swallows, and continues speaking. “Half Water Tribe, huh?”

Amon inclines his head. “Yes. Half, what did you call it earlier? _Bass-ackwards_ Northern Water Tribe, or something along those lines?”

Korra doesn’t even look contrite. “I hear they’re better than they used to be,” she says, as though conceding a point.

Amon almost wishes that he didn’t have to wear the mask with her. He’s got one eyebrow up and he wishes she could see the look on his face.

“Did you ever celebrate any of the Water Tribe holidays?” 

The way Korra asks her question sounds like she’s getting at a point, so Amon thinks carefully of how he’d like to answer.

“My mother had her own quiet celebrations.” It’s true enough; his father was far enough removed from a traditional Water Tribe upbringing that most of the festivals had meant nothing to him. He’d allowed his wife to observe them, and involve their sons, at least when they were younger.

“Hmm,” Korra says. “Well, the Glacier Spirits Festival is coming up.”

“Yes, I am aware. The Southern Water Tribe has a rather large celebration every year, don’t they?”

Korra smiles at the question, and it’s like her whole face lights up. Amon almost forgets how to breathe. “It was always my favorite time of year growing up,” she says. “I’d get to leave the compound and eat all the junk food the White Lotus would normally never let me. And I’d get to see my parents, and go on the ferris wheel--”

Korra’s reminiscences paint a vivid picture of the festival. It’s the most animated he’s ever seen her, and the most consecutive words she’s ever said to him. He’s completely enraptured.

"You have fond memories of it," he says rather redundantly as she trails off, but he wants her to keep speaking, just so he can see her happy like he hasn't had the opportunity to before.

Korra seems to realize how long she's been speaking about the festival, and the looks on her face changes, her cheeks turning pink as she bites her lip.

"Yeah," Korra says. "About that. I was hoping to go this year, too."

“I see,” Amon says. He takes a bite of tentacle to give himself time to formulate an answer.

Winning her trust has been like building a house of cards, each one delicately placed. His reaction could either add another, or cause the whole thing to crumble. As loathe as he is to let her leave, he knows forbidding it will ruin his progress. He’s waited this long, he can wait longer.

“I don’t foresee it being a problem,” he says. He notes the look of relief on her face, and knows he’s made the right call. “You have vacation days, of course.”

“Of course,” Korra says, with a forced laugh. 

He knows what she thinks of him, knows that she expected him to treat her like a prisoner. He wants this to be enough, for her to realize that he’s given her what the White Lotus wouldn’t, what her status as the Avatar wouldn’t: the freedom of deciding for herself. He wants her to try it, of course. But mostly, he just wants her to make the decision to come back to him when she’s done.

“Any thoughts on when you’ll be leaving?”

Korra pushes her noodles around on her plate. “Asami is going down with some guy named Varrick in a few days, I was hoping to ride along with them.”

_A few days_ is not really what Amon would consider as sufficient notice, but he doesn’t say as much. “I hope you have a lovely time,” he says instead, and he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, how do you guys feel about Varrick/Bolin? Because I'm super bummed the fandom didn't jump all over that pairing! It's gonna be a thing here, jsyk.
> 
> Also, is everyone feeling the 'be the leaf' bit?

**Author's Note:**

> For a story that was supposed to be pure crack, there's actually a lot of angst. Oops.
> 
> Also, Amon's speech is mostly just a Winston Churchill speech that I shortened and reworked.


End file.
